Very Twisted Things (Briarcrest Academy #3) (6 page)

A bolt of electricity zapped through my insides and went straight to my lady parts. “Violin Girl?”

Just then a commotion at the door caught his attention, and I angled my head and took in Blair Storm, sweeping inside the entrance in a tight white sundress and skinny stilettos, entourage in tow. Perfect. Guess they’d moved from the coffee shop to here. Dammit. I sighed.

Patrons pulled out their camera phones and started clicking away as she waltzed around, her mane of white hair caressing her shoulders as she pranced by like a My Little Pony. A group of young girls squealed and ran to her with paper and pen out. She obliged with a sweet smile on her face.

Only I knew better.

I wished I didn’t let her bother me.

He let go of my hand and snapped up out of his seat, nearly knocking down his chair. His eyes careened from me to Blair and then back again, as if he couldn’t make up his mind about what to do or say.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He popped off his hat and ran a hurried hand through his hair. “I—I have to go. My friend’s here now.”

My eyes flew to Blair. “
She’s
who you’re meeting?” I hissed, filling in the gaps.

“Look, I wish I could explain, but it’s complicated.”

Disappointment settled in me, and I held my hand up. “Wait. Is she your
girlfriend
?” Maybe he wasn’t the sweet person I thought he was.

He shrugged, his mouth thinning, and I waited for him to explain further, but he just stood there.

“So what you’re
not
telling me is that you and her are a thing?”

He eased off his sunglasses and tucked them in his pocket with care as if weighing his words. “Do you mind if we talk about this later? I can’t explain—”

“No. Just tell me the truth. Are you and Bubbles going at it?”

“Bubbles?”

I waved my hands at him. “Never mind that. Just answer the question.”

“What do you mean?” He crossed his arms.

And then I started babbling. “Are you doing the bedroom rodeo with her? You know, bumping uglies? Rolling in the hay? Playing hide the sausage? Churning butter?
Making love
?”

His jawline tightened, and his eye definitely twitched. “I don’t owe you an explanation of my love life. How do I know you won’t spill what you know to the media?”

“I guess you don’t. Maybe I like to keep my own name out of the papers. Maybe you and Blair aren’t the only famous people in this room.” I groaned at my own stupidity. I’d said too much. I picked up my purse, eyeing the paparazzi who’d come into the shop. They weren’t here for me, and I hadn’t even been on their radar in a long time, but I still wanted to avoid them.

“Thanks for the ice cream,” I said tersely. “Next time … pretend you don’t know me if we happen to see each other.”

“Wait. Don’t go,” he said as I headed to the door.

But I knew he didn’t mean it. I wasn’t an imbecile. I could tell he hadn’t wanted to be seen with me.

“Violin Girl!” he called out, frustration evident in his voice, but I increased my stride, anxious to put distance between us. Like an idiot, I looked over my shoulder as a soft cooing came from Blair. I watched her jump in his arms and lay a big kiss on his cheek. My stomach rolled, and I don’t even know why.

I backed out the door, unable to tear my eyes off them.

“First impression? She called me a wiener.”

—
Sebastian Tate

“WHO WAS THAT girl?” Blair hissed under her breath as we posed for a couple of pictures inside the ice cream shop.

“My neighbor. No one that concerns you.”

She reached out, her hands taking mine in a fake handhold. “It concerns us both if the media even sniffs that we aren’t a real couple. You want that movie, don’t you?”

I shot her a dark look. “Don’t patronize me, Blair. I know exactly what I want and I’ll do whatever it takes to get it. I also know you need me to make you look younger for those acting jobs you want. We both benefit.”

“You seem to have the gist of it.” She applied lip gloss and then puckered up her mouth. “Now kiss me. There’s a guy from TMZ here.”

I feigned a happy expression and took her mouth, my hands on her shoulders. Her hairspray smell clogged my nose, reminding me that she didn’t smell like strawberries, like Violin Girl had. I closed my eyes and wondered what kissing
her
mouth would be like. Would her lips be as soft as they looked? Did she like long, slow kisses or hard ones that took her breath away? Would she even want to kiss me? I clenched my hands, remembering how close we’d been at our table, how I’d ached to know more about her but had sensed she needed to go slow.

And the tapping.

What had happened to her?
I’d been truthful with her. Her quirk hadn’t bothered me. In the big picture, it wasn’t what stood out about her. Nope. What struck me were her big lavender eyes, creamy skin, and jet-black hair.

Most of all, I felt like I knew her even when I didn’t.

Did she think about me at all?

The kiss ended and I pulled back to tweak Blair on the nose. All for show. She fluttered her eyelashes at me and started talking, but I barely listened, my head still running through every little second I’d spent with Violin Girl. Analyzing it. Would she play for me again? What song would she do next? I got amped up just imagining it.

Then I got pissed at myself.

Daydreaming about her was insane. Blair might be hard to deal with, but she was my ticket to the big time, and the only girl I needed to be focused on right now. My goal was not to woo the raven-haired beauty that lived next door, but to be a star.

“What would you like to eat, babe?” I asked a bit later as we stood at the counter.

“Apparently, you’ve already had ice cream,” she snipped in a low voice. “Are you going to eat again? That’s a lot of calories, Basty.”

I tampered down my flare of anger. “Don’t make me regret this,” I said in her ear through gritted teeth. “Stop bitching and let’s get this done. I have a meeting in an hour that I can’t miss.”

One that no one knew about.

“Fine.” She shrugged.

“And don’t call me any of your ridiculous nicknames. I’m not your pet.”

She let out a tingling laugh and squeezed my arm as she gazed adoringly into my eyes. “Of course, darling. Whatever you say.”

I had to give it to her. She really was a good actress.

“WELCOME TO LYONS Place,” said Mrs. Smythe with a flourish as she led me back to her office.

I gazed around at the orphanage, taking in the freshly painted walls in the foyer and the staff who milled around. I got a good vibe from the place, and it put a spring in my step. For once, I was doing something I wanted, not something Harry Goldberg, my new Hollywood agent, had recommended. He was all about the social aspect of my career—especially Blair—and that was essential, but I also wanted to do something that was just for me. Something relevant.

A wiry janitorial lady loaded down with cleaning supplies and pushing a mop bucket stopped me for my autograph. She fumbled around in the pockets of her uniform and pulled out a piece of notepaper. Her hands shook. “Sebastian Tate! Good God, my daughter will go nuts when she sees this. Thank you!” She beamed at me.

I signed it and handed it back. “No problem. Anytime.” Feeling nostalgic, I leaned in and gave her a quick hug. Truth was she kinda reminded me of my own mom, Rachel, who’d died fifteen years ago. She’d been a hardworking lady too, spending her days at a local LA diner to contribute to the family. Dad had been a musician, and her extra tip money had come in handy.

The cleaning lady left whistling, and I followed Mrs. Smythe into her office and sat down in a leather chair. Petite and fiftyish, she sent me a cool businesslike smile. I got the impression she wasn’t impressed with my star power. “Well. I was shocked to get your email and then your persistent phone messages about your interest here. It’s not everyday we get requests from celebrities offering their services. Money, yes, but not their actual time, Mr. Tate—”

I sent her my best charming smile. “Call me Sebastian, please.”

“Okay,” she said on a blush and then cleared her throat. “To tell you about us, we’re a new facility focused on the arts with a heavy emphasis on music. We house a hundred kids here, with plans to develop it further in the future.”

I nodded. I’d read up on the place on the internet after I’d seen the sign going up one day on my way to the music studio. Black and gold, the signage had caught my eye because of the lion on it. He was standing on his hind legs and roaring—just like a family crest. I’d had a thing for lions since my sister-in-law Nora called me one. Long story short, she tended to match people up with animals. A lot. For example, my brother, Leo, was a tiger, Mila was a bunny, and I was the lion of the family because of my great hair and general awesomeness. I was the king of the jungle—or at least the king of Hollywood. Anyway, it was my family nickname. I even had a tribal lion tattooed across my shoulder and down my back.

She continued. “Our students—orphans—are teens. Most are from poverty backgrounds and face underlying emotional issues such as ADHD or Autism. Some even have past drug problems. Some are recently orphaned and others have been in the system since birth. I guess what I’m trying to say is each child is different and hand selected by our board of directors and benefactor, who prefers to remain anonymous.” She sighed and tapped a pen on her desk. “To be honest, I am still trying to figure out what to do with you. Is there a particular reason you chose us?”

I’d gripped the chair while she talked, my past pricking at my heart. Sure the sign had captured my attention, but there was also a piece of me that remembered my own gangster neighborhood and how I’d lost my parents. That was the part of me that wanted to give back and be part of this community. I wanted roots here, and what better way than investing myself.

“Lots of reasons. I’m an LA boy at heart … I grew up here. When I was eight, I lost my parents to a junkie who shot them in a carjacking.” I took in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, remembering the fallout from that day. “I saw it happen. I—I was on the porch waving goodbye just as they pulled out. This guy came running up—got in the car with them … and killed them.” My throat got full, and I lifted my hands and scrubbed my face. “Sorry—for getting emotional. Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, her face softening. “I had no idea.”

I nodded. “It was a hard time for my family, and we had some lean years until my brother Leo made money in gym ownership.”

“Your story is similar to some of the kids here, Mr. Tate, except you’re rich and famous now.” She smiled. “Why do you think you’d enjoy helping?”

I cleared my throat, anxious to make a good impression. “People assume I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, but that’s not the case. My brother gave up his own music career to stay with me. I remember hating him sometimes, you know, because he wasn’t my mom or dad—or because all he could cook was popcorn and pizza.” I laughed at those memories. “But I wouldn’t be the person I am if it wasn’t for him.”